


Because he had Wally

by Alfreds_Mustache



Series: Because he had Wally [1]
Category: DCU, Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: :(, Angst, Feels, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Poor Dick, Sad Ending, Unrequited Love, birdflash kinda, im so sorry, is it unrequited if Wally doesn’t actually know?, maybe I’ll make a sequel that’s happier..., this is a depressing one guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 19:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21415444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alfreds_Mustache/pseuds/Alfreds_Mustache
Summary: He wasn't supposed to die like this. None of them were. It didn't make any sense and seemed a rather cruel, ironic twist of fate.He couldn't die here. Not now, never like this.*****Dick spends his final moments thinking about the life with Wally he’d always envisioned. One filled with hugs and coffee and cuddling and kisses...A life he’d no longer be able to have.*/or/Dick thinks about how much he loves his redheaded speedster and it brings him comfort and warmth in his final moments.
Relationships: One sided Dick/Wally, pre Dick/Wally
Series: Because he had Wally [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626031
Comments: 13
Kudos: 82





	Because he had Wally

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it’s not mine. All rights go to DC Comics.
> 
> This is a sad one, sorry guys. I don’t know how, but it just sort of happened.
> 
> WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH, MENTIONS OF BLOOD/INJURY, POTENTIALLY UNREQUITED LOVE.

He wasn't supposed to die like this. None of them were. It didn't make any sense and seemed a rather cruel, ironic twist of fate.

He couldn't die here. Not now, never like this.

He of course had known that his time would come sooner or later--probably closer to the side of “sooner”, considering what he did for a living. He wasn’t ignorant or naive, he knew what he was doing. He lived a dangerous lifestyle, one that constantly put his life at risk, and he knew that. He accepted that--hell, he  _ expected _ that.

It was a part of the job; he couldn't do his job as consistently and exceptionally if he didn’t take risks, especially the dangerous ones, the ones that were liable to get him killed.

So far, none of them had; something that a guy like him realized was fully due to a combination of practiced skill, determination, and pure goddamn  _ luck _ .

But he didn't expect this. He hadnt seen it coming and he didn’t how how the fuck he’d allowed it to happen.

His job was to notice things, to constantly be aware of his surroundings--it was literally in his job description (both of them. So how had he missed it? Why had he let his guard down? Why had he let himself get distracted?)

He honestly had no fucking idea. He didn't have answers to all the questions that plagued his mind, that were swirling in the forefront of his thoughts and making him feel dizzy. He thought he could hear a ringing noise, and his entire body was buzzing. Neither of these were out of fear, though; sure, he was also terrified and confused and desperate and hopeless--but his body didn't seem to be all too connected to his brain right now. Really, he felt numb, and he couldn’t move. An icy current of blood would shoot through his limbs every time he thought about it, and then his thoughts would get fuzzy and the pounding in his ears would get louder and louder…

_ How did this happen? And why now? _

What a stupid way to die. He’s faced the barrel of an army-grade firearm more times than he can count, been dosed with serum meant to break his mind, been kidnapped and beaten so frequently since he was a child that he could make a fucking book out of it. He had the scars and nightmares to prove it.

For something so… ordinary to be the thing that kills him seemed laughable. He was still processing it as it was happening, was feeling so many things he shouldn’t be, not right now anyway, and not feeling what probably should be. He giggled--a breathy, sputtering noise that choked from his blood-stained lips. Though he didn't really feel it or process it, he could see his body trembling, twitching, spasming as though he’d been locked in one of those giant refrigerators they have in the back of restaurant kitchens.

But that wasn't what was happening. It might’ve made a little more sense if that were the case.

His thoughts were beginning to blur together and he couldn't focus on anything within the incoherent mess that was now his mind.

_ Fuck. _

_ Why am I here again? How did this happen? _

_ Am I cold, or is my foot asleep? _

_ Did I thank Alfred for breakfast this morning? _

_ What time is it? _

_ ...I can't tell if i'm hungry or not…. mmm, Crocky Crunch... _

_ Did I tell Wally how much I love him? _

_ Shit--did I pay my rent?? _

_ ...Wait a second, blue isn’t even my favorite color… _

_ Do I like mocha fraps? _

_ Why does “converse” mean to  _ talk  _ with someone but also means the  _ reverse  _ of something? _

_ Did I feed the cat? ...Do I even have a cat? _

_ Where the  _ fuck  _ am I right now? _

Another sharp pain exploded behind his eyes, making his head throb and his vision blurry.

Right. He was about to die.

As Dick Grayson.

Not as Officer Grayson. Not as Nightwing. Not even as Richard Grayson, adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne.

No, because any of those would’ve made some kind of sense, would have been explainable, would've had reason. But not this; this he hadn't planned for, hadn't seen coming because  _ what were the odds? _

What were the odds that he, a police officer/experienced vigilante would be taken down by something so simple? Hadn't he faced the Joker head-on by himself and won? Hadn’t he survived a bullet to the head? A global alien invasion? Mother-fucking  _ magic _ ? Chemo, Ra’s, Slade, Cobb, Tarantula, Bane,  _ Blockbuster _ ?

After all of that, why is he dying now? Like this?

As a fucking  _ civilian _ ?

It was completely out of the blue, like Death had been picking names from a hat and his just happened to be chosen. That was the hardest part, he thought, was that his death wouldn’t have a reason. He hadn't saved somebody, there was no assassin, no one had targeted him for any of his personas; at the time, he was just a random, average-looking guy walking down a random, average-looking street. A random, average-looking car. A random, average-looking patch of ice.

He’d been window-shopping for a cheap gift for his “secret santa” at the precinct (it was the secretary, a kind, middle-aged woman whose warm smile and quick wit reminded him of Leslie).

Window shopping. That’s why he’s here, that’s what got him killed.  _ Fucking. Window-shopping. _

Why couldn’t it have been a villain or a bomb or a bullet--no, not a bullet. Definitely not a bullet--or a criminal, a deadly poison, a sword… hell, maybe even an earthquake or a wildfire.

But not this.

No one could have possibly expected this.

And, really, it was his own fault. He should have watched where he was going, should've taken his eyes off the television displayed in the storefront window, off of the speedster that was on the screen. He shouldn't have taken that extra second to admire the familiar, fiery locks that looked as wind-swept as ever, to gaze into those gentle, sparkling green eyes, couldn’t help but smile widely in return to the sheepish, toothy grin on the screen. He couldn't help but notice those ginger freckles, fair lashes, a tiny scar on his cheek from before he’d had speedster healing, those bitty dimples that you couldn’t really spot unless you’d already seen them up close…

He hadn't been paying attention. He’d been blinded by pure adoration, pride, love…

God, he loved him so much. So goddamn much.

At least that would be the last person he saw before he died. The one he loved the most. The one he’d do anything for.

He would move mountains for Wally, would paddle across the Pacific ocean for him, would cross realms, galaxies, dimensions; he’d travel through time, scale Mount everest---  _ die for him _ .

He sighed, feeling slightly warmer than he did before. Just thinking about Wally made his heart flutter. He wasn't sure if he was smiling right now or not, but that’s what he felt like doing. He didn't know why.

How long had it been? It felt like seconds. Maybe it was.

The buzzing in his head and limbs was starting to recede, though he was still numb.

He wondered if maybe this was a dream--a dumb, fucked up dream, but those were the kinds of dreams he usually had anyway. It felt like a dream. Everything was hazy, and he wasn't in control of what was going on, was kind of just along for the ride as his brain tried to figure out what was real or not, what had actually happened, if he was remembering things or making them up… the he would wake up, groggy and in his bed, Wally snoring next to him, still sound asleep. He would peck him lightly on the cheek before nuzzling right up to him and drifting back to sleep peacefully and in the warm embrace of the man he loved more than anything else in the world.

But this wasn't a dream. He wasn't floating around a made-up landscape in his mind, he was lying on bloody concrete in the real world, on a real street, because he’d slipped on a very real patch of ice.

This wasn't a dream; it was too bright, too loud, too broken, too numb, too much pain--well, there was at first; there was surprise and falling and crashing and crunching and broken ribs and shattered limbs and fractured spine and bleeding, so much bleeding… but that had faded quickly, and then all he’d been able to feel was numb. He should've probably been worried, but what was the point? There wasn't anything he could actually do about it.

This wasn’t a dream, definitely not a dream, because Wally wasn’t here. Wally was always in his dreams, by his side, holding hands, on patrol, at the park, drinking coffee, watching television, holding each other close...in his dreams.

He and Wally only existed in his dreams. It was the only place that Wally really loved him, would ever love him like that.

His eyes were growing heavy. How had he kept them open for so long? Maybe he’d just forgotten how to blink.

He couldn’t tell what was happening anymore; where he was, what he was lying on, what his thoughts were. His head wasn’t throbbing anymore and the numbness of his body was spreading to his mind. He couldn’t feel, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see… He closed his eyes. They weren’t doing anything for him, anyway.

His thoughts felt numb. He couldn't remember what he was thinking about, what his thoughts were. What were thoughts again? He felt tired. Maybe he shouldn't have closed his...eyes. Wait, when had he done that? And why was his body...numb? How long had it been since he...fell? Slipped? Was there a...difference--?--between the two..?

Why was the world the color black? Color. Color was...what was ‘color’ again?

Wait, when had he closed--shut--unopened--locked--his….his…?

His..?...

He felt...felt….felt. Felt?

He… he didn’t….Did not..not did?....felt...feel…...any. Any...where? No… thing. thi..n.g..?

T..h…..i.ng….h…?..... th...i ...n…..g………...

...

…...…….?

…..…..??

..…?

….

  
  


He could no longer remember the difference between words, what each word meant, why they existed...All he had were feelings. No thoughts or words to go along with them, just a wamness that he couldn't explain. It wasn't warm warm; it was more like a mother’s hug kind of warm. It wasn’t cocoa-fireplace-blanket warm; it was smile-joy-love warm.

It was a nice feeling.  _ Nice _ ; he remembered that word. And  _ Wally _ . He could remember that one, too.

_ Wally _ , his mind turned the flickering word curiously, not quite sure why it was there when all the other words had gone. He liked this word, definitely like this word because it was floaty and warm and smile-joy-love. It was nice. It was Wally. He could keep this word, he decided. It was warm, and he liked warm. He held the word--the feeling, the warmth,  _ Wally _ \--close, as close as he could, and felt nothing but love and joy and smiles and warmth because this was the only thing that would ever matter and it was all he would ever need.

So happy and warm and filled with love and smiles and hugs and jou that he didn’t notice when his heart stopped beating in his chest and the world disappeared forever.

But that was okay.

Because he had  _ Wally _ .

*

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, & I know I’m evil but I just felt like writing something darker. I might make a sequel. Maybe something from Wally’s POV.
> 
> Side note: I made myself cry while writing this... guess that confirms that I’m evil AND trash.
> 
> Tell me what you thought about it in the comments, I’d love to get some opinions!<3 ^-^


End file.
